


An Offering in the House of Cannibals

by Ozymanreis



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Jim Moriarty's Quest to Fuck All Holmes Siblings, M/M, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, Minor Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Missing Scene, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9400550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: “You’re a Christmas present.”"Oh, how do you want me?"





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xojim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xojim/gifts).



> Jimcroft, missing scene from TFP, as requested by xojim on Tumblr. 
> 
> Heed the tags, but the other ships are mentioned only, more pining than actual relationships.

“You’re a Christmas present.”

“Oh,” Jim grinned, “how do you want me?” It wasn’t a serious suggestion. Or at least it _wasn’t_ , until the words left his mouth, because then a most curious thing happened.

Mycroft Holmes _blushed_.

 _Oh_. Jim repeated in thought, his smirk turning seductive, _Isn’t this a turn up?_ Hadn’t honestly considered it before, attentions always too preoccupied with _Sherlock_ , but… A Holmes was a Holmes. Brilliant, genetically blessed, understood the grander picture. Sure, this one was a bit _boring_ , stuck behind a desk all the time, didn’t throw himself out there for the _thrill_ …

And yet. There were other ways to be thrilling.

“There is, in this facility…” But Jim had already stopped listening. It wasn’t about the _words_. He walked past him, listening for any other sign. Why oh why was the Iceman staying seated? He’d tried so hard to be _above_ him during his captivity. He’d offered a seat, but when it was declined, the eldest Holmes, by all metrics, should’ve stood to equalize the playing field.

The fact that he had made no move in such a way told Jim leagues. Wanted to keep a slight distance between them, the blush, here as a Christmas present, but not for him? There was something greater to be bargained for here, information pertinent to his general Sherlock goals.

But that was for later.

“Can I stop you right there?” Jim held up a hand, staring out the window. It was hardly a command, yet the Iceman stopped. _Charming,_ the consulting criminal smiled, ocean nearly smiling back at his nerve, “Tell me. Why am I here?”

“I was just-“

“No, no, not whatever I’m sure well-polished excuse you’ve got ready to whip out.” He turned, beginning the circle the desk, “Why am I _here?_ You made me leave my guards at the door, so did you. You even turned off the security cameras.”

“This is a highly sensitive deal-“

“You wanted us to be alone.” Jim smiled at the ceiling, mouth half-open, “You know I’ve got a Holmes _preference_ by now, but for you? I can make an exception.”

Mycroft scowled, cheeks flaring pink.

“ _Oh_.” Jim blinked — it really was Christmas! “You do too. Is that why you want me? We’re so similar, you had to have noticed.”

The Iceman’s grip on the arms of his chair was enough confirmation. “There is, in this facility-“ he tried again, but Jim slammed his hands down on the desk, parallel to him.

“ _Don’t_ waste my time.” Jim teased, circling around the corner, taking each step, every movement, very carefully, intentionally. One knee at a time, he straddled the eldest Holmes’ lap, hands finding purchase on his shirt collar — he’d enjoy messing that three-piece suit up.

“You aren’t _my_ present.” Mycroft’s voice was insistent, but there’s a hint of desire layered carefully underneath. His face had fallen from anger, back into the emotionless mask he so loved to rely on. Jim noticed, and that… That wasn’t helpful.

“Then we’ll call this a bonus.” He nipped at his ear, pulling back to observe, “So, how will it be?” His voice dropped several octaves, taking on his English accent, “Should I pretend I’ve got no idea what I’m doing?”

The scowl returned, an unyielding palm pressing over Jim’s heart, putting space between them again. The face shown, the hand, was all business. “If this is _really_ happening…” Mycroft swallowed, “Leave him out of it.”

Jim took a moment to process, _Oh, does the shame run that deep? Yet you still can’t shove it away… Interesting._ “Fair enough.” His natural lilt returned, leaning back in for his neck. _Or maybe it’s really not about him_. And didn’t _that_ have all the possibilities in the world? Holmeses could be so surprising.

“No marks, please.” Mycroft said, almost resigned as he lifted his chin, giving Jim better access. _Resigned,_ Jim pouted internally, _Your need to be proper is killing my buzz_. But it was a challenge, wasn’t it? Crack that carefully constructed veneer of ice.

Moriarty spent at least ten minutes laving attention to his pulse, kisses, nips, bites that bordered on leaving marks, but he heard no complaints. But no moans either, just the quickening of breath, leaving Jim frustrated, and almost fascinated: how much experience did the Iceman have with this?

“Going to tell me if I’m doing anything right?” Jim teased, hands beginning to pull and loosen Mycroft’s tie, tossing it over his shoulder with a flair.

The eldest Holmes blinked, staring blankly a moment. Then Jim watched the conflict in Mycroft’s conscience work out over his face — so obvious, really. Irresponsible, utterly forbidden, but that’s what made it so _fun_. Eventually, Mycroft wet his lips, his left hand mirroring Jim’s ministrations, tugging at his tie, right hand threading through his hair, pulling him close, giving him a barely-there kiss, then another, and another, until it built up.

Soon, Jim was trapped in something almost _ferocious,_ unable to catch his breath. _Oh yes_ , the quiet, repressed ones were always hiding a wild side. Started remarkably unsexy, but _ah,_ as Mycroft got more involved, rolled his hips, he began to take a more bodily interest.

Wandering hands, Jim ripped Mycroft’s pristine vest open, buttons flying off, earning him a displeased hum. He broke off the kiss, panting out a laugh, “Oh, _that’s_ what gets a reaction from you?” He hooked a finger between buttons on his shirt, “Should this be next?”

Mycroft hissed (much to Jim’s surprise), surging forward, batting Jim’s hands away. He pushed his navy blue jacket off as he shrugged out of his own, fingers flying over the buttons on Jim’s shirt, undoing them quick, efficient. It’s not seduction, it’s purely utilitarian.

There’s something hot about that, too. He went back in for a kiss, being met with a bite to his lower lip, “This- this position might be difficult if you wish to do anything else.” That _stutter,_ Jim was getting closer.

“Agreed.” Jim wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve, grinning as he got back onto his feet, “What do you suggest, hm?”

“Over the desk?”

“ _Naughty._ ”

“Is that _really_ necessary?” Mycroft asked, beginning to undo his belt.

“Only a lot.” Jim tilted his head, watching curiously, “Don’t suppose you keep lube in here?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, dragging his belt out of the loops (seems the pause let him regain some of that composure), setting it on the chair, “It’s an island for the psychically, criminally unstable, and their healthcare professionals, consent can’t be given.”

“I understand that’s why you wouldn’t have _condoms_ , but lube has its medical uses. Some in the infirmary, I’d imagine…” But Jim shook his head, mentally scrapping the idea, “but in the time it would take to walk over, you’ll change your mind.”

“Come to my senses?” Mycroft offered, almost perked up by the idea.

“Yes, _that_ , can’t have _that_.” Jim considered, “Hang on, I’ve got it.” Would’ve preferred _not_ to take this option, but desperate times and all.He cleared his throat, smoothing his hair back some, walking back over to the door. He cracked it open, poking his head out, happy to see his men standing just outside like they were commanded. “Darling, be a good boy and give me your stash?”

His nearest guard (though either would’ve done fine) raised his eyebrows, but didn’t question, as he reached into his pocket and handed it over. _Just as you’re paid to do,_ Jim thought, flashing him a gleeful smile before retreating, shutting the door behind him.

Watching, Mycroft raised his eyebrows in bemusement, almost compelling an answer, undoing the first few buttons on his shirt, untucking it from his trousers.

“Please, like you’re surprised.” Jim answered, taking off his belt.

“Moderately.”

“Don’t get _proper_ on me now.” The criminal stepped out of his shoes, setting the lube bottle in front of him, “Over the desk, did you say?” He popped up on his toes to steal a quick peck before bending over in front of him, lowering his trousers just under his arse.

Despite his confidence in the matter, Jim was still surprised when he felt Mycroft’s hand on his lower back, smoothing under his shirt, then dragging down his pants. Jim closed his eyes, positively _delighted_. He checked out for the next parts as best he can — nothing really to be gleaned from prep that he hadn’t already gotten from the more callous, urgent demonstrations earlier.

And like he predicted, it’s rough, perhaps too fast. The man’s only real concession to sweetness was that his hand was a grounding force, and he used a frankly ridiculous amount of lubricant. Even with the burn of pain, pleasure began to mix in as Mycroft found the bump of his prostate. Still, a third and fourth finger were added too close together to be comfortable, his groans equally in pain as pleasure.

His fingers retracted all at once, leaving Jim feeling empty, left almost _missing_ the discomfort. _Interesting,_ how’d the Iceman manage that?

 _Don’t look._ He softly reminded himself as he heard the unzipping of trousers behind him, _Better in my head._ The initial push caused some deep, primal _panic_ — bigger than he’d been expecting, “ _Oh,_ ” he moaned softly, trying to breathe through the singe of pain, while simultaneously having the air pushed from his lungs, “Been holding out on me, clearly.”

“With good reason.” Mycroft replied, his voice dropped several octaves, heavy with lust as he slid in, stopping as he was fully sheathed. He leaned over, biting his lip, hands laying over Jim’s, splayed out on the desk top. He closed his fingers between Jim’s, entwining their fingers, bodies nearly flush together.

“Getting soft on me?” Jim teased, still breathless. The gesture was just too… _sweet_ , for what had just happened, for the impossibility of the situation. In response, Mycroft nearly pulled out, slamming back into him, forcing yet another moan out of the criminal.

He set a slow, hard rhythm at first, enjoying the slide of each inch, in and out. Jim felt it in his toes, in the hollow of his stomach, compressing his diaphragm each time, small moans building into large, heat creeping up his neck.

Time seemed to stretch out, the pulse of pain and pleasure expanding his mind into a perfect void. He noted the passage of time as Mycroft began to grunt, low in his chest, feeling the vibration of his chest pressed against his back.

Mycroft was getting close, Jim can sense it, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic, breaking his precious controlled rhythm. Jim won’t come from this alone, but there’s something almost like subspace about it, which is reward enough.

The Iceman groaned, shuddered, grip on Jim’s hands clenching hard as his hips stuttered to a halt. The pulse of his cock, sticky mess filling him in spurts, _how naughty._ He’d be feeling this for days, but knew the memory would distract them both for weeks. Perhaps for Mycroft, that distraction would be _shame,_ because wouldn’t that be something?

Jim stayed still as the Iceman pulled out, wincing at the return of emptiness, nothing now to distract him from the needy ache between his legs.

“Can you sit?” Mycroft asked, buttoning his trousers back up.

“M _ay_ be.” Jim turned over slowly, using the desk as a support, legs too wobbly to support his full weight. _Sore,_ but he managed to sit, smirking as he could finally _see_ how positively disheveled the usually so prim and proper man had become, his copper hair in messy tufts, shirt open, vest hanging off.

Dutifully, Mycroft pulled down the front of Jim’s pants, getting on his knees. Again, there’s no art to it, but it’s hot all the same. Jim grabbed at Mycroft’s hair as he’s swallowed down so seamlessly. Flawless technique, Jim was almost breathless with the execution of it alone, the tight heat of his throat so sudden and perfect.

It doesn’t take much, pulling his mind back to the present feelings, sensations, orgasm already built, just needing that extra _push-_

Mycroft swallowed around him, and that was it, vision blacking out, head awash with satisfaction. The Iceman pulled off quickly, immediately going for the rest of his discarded suit, composing himself once more. Jim basks in it all a moment, sighing out any leftover tension.

“Smokes?” Jim purred, opening his eyes anew, the world a bit brighter than he’d left it. He was quick to redo his trousers, but otherwise he left himself in a state of contented disarray.

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do. I’m not your brother, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Annoyance crossed over the Iceman’s brow, opening the top drawer on the desk, a pack of Insignias sitting on top of several files, an older-looking Zippo beside them. Jim picked them both up, considering them both. Expensive lights and… “There’s a pirate ship on it?” He asked, vaguely amused, “a bit childish for you, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” Mycroft hummed assent, but offered nothing else, looking somewhat haunted.

“Been a while since you just… _let go?_ Did something utterly reckless?” He lit up his cig, taking a long drag.

“Never been quite _that_ reckless, no.” Mycroft re-did his belt, then went to put his tie back on.

“I can’t _really_ believe that now, can I? The way you were carrying on.”

Mycroft shrugged, going to the mirror in the corner of the room, straightening all of the lines on his clothes, trying to get his hair back into some sort of order. 

Well, that was probably all the information Jim could get for now. Besides, he’d wasted enough time here — there were other schemes to hatch. “Now that _that’s_ out of the way…” Jim took another drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke above his head, “What were you saying about a Christmas present?”


End file.
